Five Cliches That Mary and Marshall Fell In To
by S J Smith-Evil Little Dog
Summary: Five different stories, five different cliches.  Can they stand it?
1. Trapped in an Elevator

**Title: **Five Cliches that Mary and Marshall Fell In to

**Author:** S J Smith

**Rating:** Teenish

**Summary: ** Five different cliches. Just for fun.

**Disclaimer: **If I had any part of this, I wouldn't be living in Boxtown.

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><p><strong>Trapped in an Elevator <strong>

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><p>"An elevator? Really?" Mary tossed her hands in the air, pacing the eight-by-eight box.<p>

"Would you mind not doing that?" Marshall eyed her as she passed him again.

"What?" She didn't even hesitate, just turned her head to look at him. "Walk back and forth?"

Marshall slumped more heavily against the wall. "That's the thing, yes."

Mary stopped, but before he could thank her, that dangerous glint flashed through her eyes. "Oh, does it bother you?" Her eyebrows arched up and she grinned that wicked grin. "I bet you'd hate it if I jumped up and down, wouldn't you?"

"Technically," Marshall straightened and raised his voice, "you can only jump up, gravity pulls you back – Mar, don't!"

He swore it just egged her on.


	2. Sex Pollen

**Title:** Sex Pollen

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><p>"I can't believe you're a <em>Star Trek<em> fan." Mary rolled her eyes.

"I am. _Star Trek_, the original series, is more than just a vehicle for actors, it is the first television series to have an interracial kiss! The original pilot episode went even beyond that, with the second in command being a woman. There's absolutely nothing wrong with being a fan of _Star Trek_." Marshall leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "Is there, Eleanor?"

She stopped in midstep, looking back at them over her shoulder. Turning slowly, she said, "You know, when I was a little girl, I had the biggest crush on - "

"The one who looked like he'd auditioned for the Monkees!" Mary said.

Eleanor fixed her with a withering stare. "Actually, I was going to say Dr. McCoy. I know he wasn't the most attractive crew member, but really," and Marshall was pretty sure he could see the teenage Eleanor right then, or maybe pre-teen Eleanor, with the wistful smile. He thought she probably had braces, and didn't realize how cute she was, "I was a sucker for his laconic attitude."

"Laconic," Marshall said, pointing at her and grinning.

"Whatever," Mary grunted, shoving her chair back and walking toward the door "I've got real work to do."

Marshall followed her out into the Albuquerque sunlight. He squinted, picking out Mary's silhouette, asking it, "So, what sort of problem do you have with _Star Trek_?"

"You mean, besides the 'the future's so bright, I gotta wear shades' attitude?" Mary snorted.

"There's something wrong with a hopeful future?"

Mary slapped the roof of the Probe. "There's something wrong with sex pollen."

Marshall's eyebrows reached for his hairline. "Sex pollen?"

"I never said I didn't watch an episode or two!"

"You would watch that episode."

"Hell, it's better than the one where Spock's brain got kidnapped by those women." Unlocking the door, Mary climbed into the Probe, leaned over, and unlocked the door for Marshall.

"You know," he said, folding himself into the passenger's seat, "only fans watch 'Spock's Brain'."

"I'm not a fan."

Marshall sneered at her. "What's the 'T' in James T. Kirk stand for?"

"How should I know, Marshall?"

"Say it."

Mary narrowed her eyes and pursed her mouth at him. "I don't know."

He made a buzzer noise. "You know what it is, you just don't want to blow that ice cool exterior. I already know you're a big bundle of nettles inside."

"Nettles? Seriously?" She pumped the gas pedal and tried to turn the engine over. The Probe whined in protest, then sputtered to a start.

"I thought nettles might flow with the sex pollen?" At Mary's glower, Marshall spread his hands. "Too much?"

"Way too much, Tiberius."


	3. Sharing a Blanket

**Title:** Sharing a Blanket

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><p>"Are you aware," Marshall said, "how cold the desert can get after the sun goes down? Because deserts are so dry," he ignored the roll of Mary's eyes, "so dry," he emphasized, "that there isn't any moisture in the air. Moisture," he had to raise his voice over Mary's choking sound, "helps trap the heat in the atmosphere."<p>

"Yeah?" Mary jerked at her leather jacket, as if by doing so, she'd be able to stretch it out, so it'd wrap around her a few more times.

Marshall slid his arm around her, pulling her against his side. When she let him, when she actually snuggled closer, looping her arms around his waist, he knew it didn't really mean anything, just that it was damned cold out here. In the moonlight, he could see the plume of her breath, at least until she tucked her face into the crook of his shoulder. "Ah-aaaah! Cold! Cold! Your nose!"

"Shut up, it'll get warmer," Mary grumbled against him. Her breath tickled his throat, but Marshall didn't squirm too much. He'd taken the precaution of wearing layered clothing, anticipating they were going to wind up spending the night in the desert on their stake out. Mary, despite his warnings, hadn't believed him. "Tell me again why we do this job?"

"Fame, fortune, a lifestyle anyone would envy?"

Glaring, Mary pulled back to slap his chest. "Stop whining! You sound like a girl."

"A masculine girl," Marshall protested.

"No such thing." Mary sniffed. "Well, maybe that Russian woman bodybuilder we saw on YouTube the other day."

"At least you didn't say Eleanor."

"Aha, no. She's more like the Wicked Witch of the West's little sister, or something."

"You know that would make her the Wicked Witch of the East," Marshall said, feeling Mary shiver against him.

She sneered, though she cuddled closer. "I should've known you were a friend of Dorothy."


	4. Pretend Marriage

**Title:** Pretend Marriage

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><p>"Stan." Mary stalked into his office. "Stan, you're kidding, right?"<p>

"I wish I was."

"No, I mean, seriously! Why do I have to go undercover with Marshall?"

He'd followed her through the doorway. "I feel I should take offense at your tone of voice."

Mary whirled on him. "You know what I mean!"

Holding up his hands, Marshall snapped, "Hey, hey! This wasn't my idea, was it?" Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. "Was it? Stan?"

"It wasn't Marshall's idea, Mary," Stan said in that placating voice he used. Marshall wondered if he did it to get Mary's goat. "Seriously."

"God! This is one of the stupidest, hare-brained stunts I've ever heard." Mary looked ready to spit nails. "I can't believe I've got to pretend to be married to Marshall. I don't go undercover, I'm not that kind of agent any more!"

"Like you ever were," Eleanor said, sotto voce.

"What was that?" Mary whirled on her now, ready to spit her venom at someone else.

"Just that, if someone needed to be an actor," Eleanor had this habit of not actually looking at Mary when she was getting ready to use that stiletto voice, "they shouldn't be looking at you."

"Oh? And who should they be looking at? Marshall?" Mary waved a hand in his direction. "He can't even keep up with me during a telephone sting!"

"I didn't know Nomi even had a husband!" Marshall protested.

Mary flung up her hands, heading out of Stan's office. "Amateurs! I work with amateurs!"

"I played the Pirate King in _The Pirates of Penzance_," Marshall shouted, following her. "I can certainly play your husband."

Eleanor turned to Stan, raising her eyebrows. "Nomi?"

Stan shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "I don't even know anymore."


	5. Not Drunken Sex

**Title:** Not!Drunken Sex

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><p>Waking up with a pounding headache threw Mary back to days she'd really rather not remember. The thirty-six hour marriage to Mark headed the top of that list, but there were other days she didn't want to think about, either. The beeping on the bedside table wasn't just annoying, it ripped open the inside of her skull and danced. She slammed her hand down on it, whining in pain at the agony of actually moving.<p>

"I heard that."

Mary froze, her eyes snapping open. _Oh, God_. She stared as Marshall came through the bedroom door, a bed tray in his hands. "Wha…"

He smirked, and Mary tried to remind herself that she was hung over, and Marshall really wasn't that good-looking without a shirt. Instead, her eyes lingered on the scar tissue on the upper right side of his chest, where the bullet from Lola's henchmen had struck him. The skin still remained rough and pinker than the flesh around it. She jerked her hand away when she realized she was rubbing her own scar. "Did you bring me breakfast?"

"No, I brought me breakfast, you might be able to share some," Marshall said, sitting on the edge of the bed and moving the tray so smoothly out of her reach, it couldn't be called a 'jerk'.

So Mary called him a jerk instead.

Marshall gave her a look, the one that let her know he'd found her wanting, and not in the good way. Mary sneered back at him, except that made the pain behind her right eye boom and she whined, "Ow, ow, ow," pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, as if that'd relieve any pain.

"See what happens when you insult the man bringing you the hair of the dog?"

That gloating tone to his voice, god, she just wanted to slap him for it. It rattled around inside her skull and Mary wanted to whine, or hide under her pillow, or chug an entire bottle of aspirin, dry, to get rid of the headache. "Unnnngh."

The smell of bread, toasted, with melted butter made her grab reflexively. "Ah-ah-ah," Marshall said, holding it just out of reach. "What's the magic word?"

"Gimmee!" Mary elbowed him, leaning over the bed tray to snatch the toast from his hand. There wasn't a lot of butter on it, just a bit for flavoring, and it smelled like heaven. Not that she'd say that.

"You're spraying crumbs, Mar," he said.

"Mmph." She chewed through the toast, spotting two tablets of aspirin next to a glass of orange juice. "Mmph?"

"Yes, those are yours, because, as I'm sure you know, the headache is because you're dehydrated." Marshall offered her the juice and Mary drank greedily. When he handed her the aspirin, she wiped her mouth on the back of her arm, realizing she was wearing a t-shirt that swam on her, rather than her usual tank top. She'd already known she wasn't in her bed, the room didn't smell right, for one thing, and the lines in the ceiling weren't the ones she was used to. Besides, what sort of idiot took an eastern facing bedroom?

Wincing at the very idea, not to mention the very brilliant light streaming through the windows, Mary swallowed the aspirin, washing them down with what was left of her orange juice. "Why am I in your bed?"

"Do you want the easy answer or the hard answer?"

Giving Marshall the 'duh' look, Mary snatched another piece of toast and began eating it.

"Easy answer – you were too drunk to drive home last night. I offered to take you, you said something about not wanting to be alone, and asked me to bring you here."

"I don't drink that much." Except, the headache proved her wrong on that matter. She dragged her hand through her hair, wincing she found a knot. "Oh, god, tell me we didn't have drunken sex?"

Marshall looked affronted. "You know I wouldn't take advantage of you."

"You'd be the only one," Mary huffed.

"Despite your characteristic negative reaction, there are other people who wouldn't take advantage of you." He held up that damned lecture finger. "And you know it."

Narrowing her eyes, Mary shot him a glare. "Name one."

He blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it again.

"See?" Ow. Not so loud. She still couldn't help but smirk at him.

Marshall tapped his coffee cup against her empty juice glass. "Your gloating is charming. As always."

Mary curled her lip back at him, looking for something else she was sure her stomach would tolerate. Coffee would've been better than o.j., but coffee dehydrated, too, and the o.j. wouldn't. Some room temperature water seemed like a good idea, but there wasn't any on the tray. She stared at the empty glass, willing it to walk to wherever a faucet was, fill itself, and walk back to her so she could drink it.

"Do you want something?"

"If I wanted something, I'd just tell you to get it for me."

Smiling, Marshall picked up the glass and left the bedroom. She couldn't help but sneer after him, making a face at his back and trying to ignore how his spine dipped into his spaceship pajamas. What little kid picked those out for him, anyway? Oh, wait, she knew, he'd picked them out himself, and would probably regale her with where he'd found them, and how they were almost exactly like the pair he'd worn when he was in second grade or something. God.

She picked at the knot in her hair, loosening it enough to finger-comb the strands easily. The light pull at her scalp irritated her headache. Mary heard the soft shuffle of Marshall's bare feet, and thought his toes were charming.

Wait, charming? She wanted to smack herself on the head, but knew it'd lead to nothing good. "What'd you get me?"

"Greedy." Marshall handed her a glass of orange juice, setting a carafe on the bed tray.

Proving him right, Mary drained her juice, letting out a happy sigh afterward and tumbling back into the bed. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply of the comforting scent of whatever laundry detergent Marshall used and…well…him. Stupid Marshall. He stirred something in his coffee, and she sniffed at that scent, too; coffee, a lifeblood, but not for her right now. Her stomach wasn't sure if it'd accept the orange juice and toast yet, though it wasn't complaining too much. Mary took another deep breath, her body sinking into the mattress. "Hey!" Her eyes snapped open. "This is one of those sponge mattresses, isn't it?" Pushing herself up on her elbows, she fixed Marshall with a leer. "What, don't like doing the bouncy bouncy any more?"

It was his turn to offer a curled lip. "Did anyone ever tell you you're crude?"

Mary shrugged. "Just you." She nudged his thigh with her toes. "So? Am I right? You've actually gone celibate?"

"I am not celibate."

"You sound like a prig." Mary rolled over, reaching for the bedside table and the drawer that inevitably would be there. "Keep your jerk off material in here?"

"Mar," he sounded aggrieved, and holy hell, that was more his language than hers, but Mary yanked the drawer open, scrambling inside to find a magazine, and a tube of lotion, and, "Aha! Condoms!"

"Safe sex is the best sex," Marshall told her as he grabbed for the box. Mary tucked it down the front of her shirt. "Now you're being childish."

"Nuh-uh." His raised eyebrows didn't deter her. Mary reached into her shirt to find the condoms. "Hey, these are nice!" She automatically blocked Marshall's reach, knowing if he got hold of the box, he'd put it up high enough she couldn't reach it or something. "Expensive." Rattling the box, Mary added, "Full!"

"If you're done mocking my sex life, Mar, may I have the condoms back?" She pitched them at him, and Marshall tossed them back into the still-open drawer of the bedside table. "Now, one of us has something to do today, and the other needs to be dropped back off at her house."

"Nnn…" Mary whined. "If I go home, I'll have to listen to Jinx. Or Brandi. Or both of them. And they'll want to know why I didn't come home last night." She rolled an eye at Marshall. "Maybe I'll just run away and join the circus."

"Ah, yes, because I can just picture you in white face, being a clown." Somehow, he managed to say it with a straight face.

"If you start with that stupid mime routine," Mary warned him.

Marshall gave her a pleasant smile.

"Talk, damn it!" Ow. That hurt her head. Ow, ow.

"About what? You not wanting to go home? Dare I say because you're afraid of what Brandi and Jinx would say? Even though you've never really cared before?"

Scowling made her skull throb, but she did it anyway. Of course, Marshall was immune to her scowls, and still had that stupid smirk on his face. Mary wished she could hit him hard enough to knock it off, but he wasn't quite in range. "Okay, so I don't want to go home," she admitted. "Is that a crime?" Flinging her hands in the air, she exclaimed. "Gah! I mean, look who I live with!"

"Mar," Marshall said, then shook his head, staring into his coffee.

She waited, eyebrow twitching up when he didn't say anything more. "Marshall?" Reaching out with her foot, she bumped his thigh with her toes again. "Spill it. You have something more to say. I know you want to!"

Marshall sipped at his coffee before answering. "I was wondering," he said, not looking at her, "if perhaps your unwillingness to go home has less to do with who's waiting for you there," his voice trailed off.

Mary nudged him again. "And?"

He swirled the coffee. "And…may have more to do with…well…"

"Would you just spit it out?" Mary snapped, shoving harder at his thigh.

"Ow. Your violence is not endearing." Marshall frowned at her, then took a deep breath.

Mary flung her hands into the air. "Gah! Just say it, Marshall!"

"I was going to say, it might have more to do with how you're feeling right now."

"Hung over?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, his mouth crimping. "Comfortable."

"Oh, please." Mary tossed her head, regretting it when her brain sloshed inside her skull.

"Do you have a better answer?" Now Marshall looked at her over his coffee cup.

"Fine, your bed is…comfortable." Mary spat out the last word. "And I like spending time with you." She added the last grudgingly as Marshall's mouth quirked up. Leaning forward, she snatched his cup and took a deep drink of it before shoving it back in his hands. "Ew! Marshall, how do you drink this crap? It's like a dessert!"

He finished off the cup, watching her as her rant died off. "Feeling better?"

Considering, Mary said, "Yup," popping the 'p'.

"Ready to go home now?"

"Not a chance in hell."

"Fine. You go take a shower, your clothes are already in the dryer. I'll take you back to your car once you've cleaned up." Marshall got up, heading out of the room.

"I'm going to use up all your hot water!" Mary shouted after him.

"I expected as much," Marshall's voice floated back.

Making a face at the doorway, Mary climbed out of the bed, stretching her arms over her head. Yeah, it was time to go, one way or another. She couldn't afford to get too comfortable here, after all. Who knew what that could lead to. With a shake of her head, Mary made her way to the bathroom. Comfort. Sure. Who needed that, anyway? She had a house of her own, albeit torn to shreds by that little shit, O'Connor, and someone needed to be there so it didn't collapse under the influence of Jinx and Brandi.

Yeah, so, who needed comfort? She had a life to live.


	6. Running Out of Gas

**Title:** Running Out of Gas

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><p>"Did you even <em>check<em> the tank before we started out here?" Mary couldn't believe it. "I mean, you're Marshall Mann. You prepare for everything. And you said you'd take care of everything!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, his mouth tight as he said, "I wasn't in charge of renting this car, nor was I aware the fuel gauge indicator wasn't working."

"You should've known! I mean, we've gone almost four hundred miles, and the gauge didn't change?" Mary slapped the dashboard. "And now we're out in the middle of fucking nowhere, with no cell coverage, and a witness waiting for pick up."

Marshall sighed. "If you bring up Lola," he said.

"You're the one who brought him up!" Mary pointed out. "Besides, it's not like it's taboo." She hesitated, thinking of Marshall, and him being shot, and how being trapped in that gas station felt. Maybe it ought to be taboo.

"So, since you have all the answers," Marshall said, "how do you propose we get out of this little predicament?"

"I could make you walk back to the nearest town," Mary said.

"Me?"

"You were the one driving, therefore, you get to walk." It made sense to her.

Marshall drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I think what we should do," he said, "is roll down the windows, and wait. Someone will drive by eventually, and we currently have food, water, and shelter."

Snorting, Mary said, "And a car in the hot sun is a deathtrap."

"And a car in the desert at night isn't a deathtrap, and keeps us from wandering into sidewinders, or cactus, or coyotes."

"If you say we could get eaten by dingoes," Mary glared.

"I'd rather not chance dingoes," Marshall said, "even if they're indigenous to Australia, rather than the American southwest."

"Oh, god."

"Did you know dingoes have wrists more like a human being? They can rotate their wrists and have been known to open doors. Also, they can't bark. They howl to communicate." Mary gave him a pained look that did nothing to stop the words flowing from her partner's mouth. "Also, they have permanently pricked or erect ears – what?"

"You said 'erect'," Mary snorted.

Marshall's mouth thinned again. "What are you, twelve?"

Mary smiled, sarcastic and brilliant.

"God, why do I put up with this?"

"I think I ought to be asking that question, Marshall. Seriously. Coyotes to dingoes?"

"They're both common wild dogs for their areas." He spread his hands. "I tried."

"At least you didn't bring up werewolves attacking us in the desert."

Marshall craned his head. "No full moon tonight."

"No silver bullets, either," Mary said.

"I guess we just have the coyotes to listen to, then. And hope they haven't developed wrists like dingoes."

Mary sighed. "Did you check the trunk? Maybe there's gas back there. In a gas can. Or something."

"I'm sure gas doesn't appear out of thin air," Marshall said. "And who travels with a full gas can? That can be dangerous."

"This isn't a Ford Pinto," Mary reminded him. "C'mon, pop the trunk." She opened the door, dropping her feet onto the sticky tarmac. "God, I hate it when the asphalt gets overheated." Walking to the back of the trunk, she slapped the warm metal. "Open up!"

The trunk lid popped open and Mary pushed it up to peer inside. Nothing of interest, much to her disgust; there was a gas can but no gas in it, a scrap of paper that the detailers had missed, a scuffed up patch on the carpet, and a flicker of light that shone on the inside of the lid. Turning, Mary watched as a pickup drew near, slowing down and stopping next to them.

"Car trouble, eh?" a young man called through the window of his truck, from his coloring either Native American or Mexican.

"Out of gas," Marshall said, getting out of the car. "You wouldn't be able to give us a lift, would you? I'd be happy to pay for your time."

"Sure, go ahead and lock up, and I'll take you." He reached across to open the door while Marshall locked up the car.

Mary glanced through the door of the truck, and muttered to Marshall, "There's a stick shift."

"Uh huh."

"I'm not playing 'dodge the stick'."

"You're not staying here, either, Mar. It's hot, like you said."

"Marshall, you sit in the middle."

"Ah, ah, my legs are longer than yours. You get the hump. Ha!" He grinned. "I said 'hump'."

Mary slapped him in the ribs, making him wince. "What are you, twelve? Geeze, Marshall!" Scrambling into the truck, she swung her legs into the passenger wheel well as Marshall climbed in after her. They fought over the small amount of space, Mary winding up with her toes tucked under Marshall's calves. She reminded herself it was better than waiting in the car. At least until she had to dodge the stickshift.

"I knew I should've made you walk," she muttered as Marshall grinned.

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><p>Note: If I come up with more cliches I want to write about, I will...but consider this story as 'finished'.<p> 


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